Chapter 7 Rowan #3
He leans in, his voice dropping into a fierce whisper. “You don’t get to decide what counts as an overreaction when your door looks like someone tried to get inside and your brakes stop working in traffic.”
My chest tightens, not from the bruising but from the truth in his tone.
“I don’t know if it’s connected,” I tell him, keeping my voice low. “I don’t know if it’s coincidence. I don’t know if I’m projecting fear onto mechanical failure.”
Ethan stares at me, breathing harder, and I watch him fight between logic and emotion. His eyes move to the sutures again, the bruising creeping under my collar, and the monitor beside me as if it’s proof that logic failed.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores it.
“Did anyone follow you?” he asks, and his eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes it hard to look away.
My stomach drops. I hesitate too long.
Ethan catches it immediately. “Rowan.”
“There was an SUV behind me,” I admit. “Black. It followed for a few turns, then it turned off.”
Ethan goes still. Not calm or relaxed but locked in place like his body is bracing for impact.
“Did you get a plate number?” he demands.
“No.” My voice comes out flat with regret. “I was focused on driving.”
He exhales hard, then leans closer. “Do you think they messed with your brakes and followed you to watch it happen?”
My skin prickles, and my mouth dries again.
“I don’t want to assume,” I answer, and the words feel inadequate even as I speak them. “I want facts.”
Ethan straightens, and I can see him reaching for a plan. He looks toward the curtain, then back to me. “I’m calling Mom.”
“No,” I reply instantly, and pain sparks through my cheek when my face tightens. “Don’t.”
Ethan’s eyes widen. “Why?”
“Because she’ll panic and drive herself here,” I answer, keeping my voice urgent but even. “Because she’ll call every person she knows. Because she won’t sleep again for a week. I need imaging back first. I need to know I’m actually okay.”
Ethan holds my gaze, then nods once, reluctantly. “Fine. But you’re not leaving this hospital alone.”
I start to respond, but the curtain moves. A presence fills the doorway before the fabric slides fully aside, and my chest tightens in recognition that lands somewhere between shock and an unwanted rush of heat.
Kiren steps into the bay.
He looks out of place in a trauma room, not because he’s dressed too well, but because he carries himself like he owns the space without trying to.
Dark jacket, black shirt, no tie, hair neat, face composed.
His eyes find mine immediately, and the air changes again, tension rising, and my body reacts before my mind decides what to do with him.
Ethan turns fast, his shoulders squaring. His stance widens slightly, protective in a way that doesn’t require permission.
“Who are you?” Ethan demands.
Kiren’s gaze moves to Ethan, assessing. He doesn’t look intimidated. He looks attentive, like he’s taking Ethan seriously.
“Kiren,” he replies, his voice calm. “I’m a friend of Rowan’s.”
Ethan’s expression darkens. “A friend?”
Kiren holds his gaze without posturing. “Yes.”
Ethan steps closer to the foot of the bed, blocking part of Kiren’s line of sight to me. “Funny. I know most of her friends. I’ve never seen you.”
Kiren’s eyes return to mine for a brief moment, then back to Ethan. “We met recently.”
Ethan’s jaw works. “And you just showed up in the ER because you heard she wrecked her car?”
Kiren doesn’t blink. “That’s correct.”
Ethan lets out a short, humorless sound. “Who called you?”
“No one,” Kiren answers. “I heard.”
Ethan’s posture tightens further, as if every answer adds fuel instead of relief. “You heard. From where? From who?”
I reposition on the gurney, discomfort tugging at my shoulder, and force my voice into the space before Ethan escalates into a full argument.
“Ethan,” I urge, keeping my tone firm. “It’s okay.”
His head snaps toward me. “Ro, no it’s not. You don’t even know what happened yet.”
“I know,” I reply. “But I’m not doing this right now.”
Ethan’s eyes search my face, torn between obeying me and protecting me from everyone. His gaze darts to Kiren again, distrust etched into every line of his expression.
Kiren remains still, his hands visible at his sides, and his posture relaxed but ready. His eyes return to me, and I see concern there.
I inhale carefully, then look at Ethan. “Please.”
Ethan’s nostrils flare. His shoulders remain tense, but he nods once, reluctant. “I’m not leaving the area.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” I answer.
Ethan takes a half-step back, then points a finger at Kiren without taking his eyes off him. “I’ll be right outside.”
Kiren inclines his head, acknowledging the warning without responding.
Ethan moves to the curtain, pauses, then looks back at me, his eyes tight with worry. “Don’t let him stress you out.”
“I’ll be okay,” I promise.
Ethan pushes the curtain aside and steps out, but I can still feel him there, like a guard dog pressed close to the door.
The silence between Kiren and me stretches. It’s not awkward but charged.
I look at him, then force my voice to stay calm. “Why are you here?”
Kiren steps closer, stopping at a respectable distance from the bed. His eyes move over my face, to the fresh sutures, the faint swelling at my cheek, and the bruising rising beneath my collar. His jaw clenches. His hands remain at his sides, but I see the tension in his fingers.
“I heard about the crash,” he replies, his voice low. “I came to see you.”
“You have no reason to hear about it,” I counter, keeping my tone even while irritation rises in my chest. “Unless you have people watching me.”
His eyes hold mine. He doesn’t deny it immediately, and that pause is enough to spike my heart rate.
“I have eyes in the city,” he answers carefully. “That doesn’t mean I put them on you.”
“That’s not a comforting distinction.”
Kiren remains calm. “Rowan.”
Hearing my name in his voice doesn’t help. It makes last night intrude on the present, unwanted and vivid. My body reacts to him even while my mind tries to build walls.
“You can’t keep showing up,” I tell him, my breath shallow. “You can’t insert yourself into my life like you have a right to be here.”
His gaze remains unwavering. “You’re in danger.”
“You don’t know that,” I snap, and the motion pulls at my bruised shoulder, pain radiating down my arm. I grimace and force myself to breathe through it.
Kiren notes the grimace, his expression hardening. “Your brakes failed.”
“My brakes might have failed because my car is old and I’m busy and I don’t take it in as often as I should,” I counter. “Mechanical failure exists.”
Kiren’s voice stays calm, but there’s an edge underneath it now. “And the SUV?”
My stomach drops again. “How did you know?”
“Because this wasn’t random,” he replies.
My throat tightens, and anger flares hot enough to override the pain. “That means you did have people watching me.”
Kiren holds my gaze. “Rowan, listen to me.”
“I am listening,” I reply, my voice rising despite my effort to keep it calm. “And I don’t like what I’m hearing.”
He takes a slow breath, then exhales, as if regulating himself. “Someone is testing your routines. Your access points. Your patterns.”
My fingers curl against the sheet. “Stop.”
His eyes remain fixed on mine. “This crash wasn’t an accident.”
“Stop,” I repeat, more forcefully. My chest feels tight, and my skin feels too warm. My heart rate climbs again, and I hear the monitor speed up its beeps.
Kiren glances at the monitor, then back to me. “You need protection.”
“I don’t want protection,” I retort. “I want my life back. I want to go to work without feeling like I’m being hunted.”
Kiren’s mouth sets. “Then let me make that possible.”
I shake my head, the motion tugging at my cheek sutures. “You’re not making it possible. You’re making it worse.”
His eyes narrow slightly, hurt flashing on his face before he buries it behind calm. “Rowan, I won’t let them take you.”
The words hit like a trigger. Them. Take you. The implication that this is larger than me. Larger than a broken brake line.
My breathing falters. The room tilts for a moment, not from the concussion, but from fear crowding my thoughts.
I force my voice back into a clinical cadence. “You need to leave.”
Kiren goes still. “No.”
“I’m not asking,” I reply, using the authoritative tone I use in trauma bays when someone’s ego interferes with care. “Leave.”
His eyes search my face, then move briefly toward the curtain, where I know Ethan is listening for any reason to come back in swinging. Kiren’s posture stiffens, but he doesn’t argue again. He nods once.
“As you wish,” he answers, his voice low.
He steps back, his dark brown eyes still on me. “I’ll be nearby.”
“No,” I insist. “Go.”
Kiren holds my gaze for another second, then inclines his head and turns. He pushes the curtain aside and steps out. I stare at the fabric after it falls back into place, my heart pounding hard enough that I can feel it behind my ribs.
Ethan appears a second later, pushing the curtain aside with a glare that could cut through concrete. “Is he gone?”
“Yes,” I answer.
Ethan’s shoulders loosen a fraction, but his eyes stay intense. “Who is he, Ro? Really.”
I swallow, then answer with the only truth I can offer without unraveling everything. “A man I met recently.”
Ethan’s expression suggests he doesn’t accept. “That doesn’t explain why he showed up like he owns the hospital.”
“I know,” I murmur.
Ethan studies me for a long moment, then lowers his voice. “Do you want me to call the police?”
The question forces me to face a reality I don’t want to face. If this is intentional, if my brakes were tampered with, then the police become part of the picture. Reports. Investigations. Attention. Exposure. A widening circle that pulls in my mother, my coworkers, and my entire life.
“I don’t know what I want yet,” I admit quietly. “I only know I’m tired of feeling like I’m one step behind whatever is happening.”
Ethan’s eyes soften for a moment, worry breaking through his anger. “I’m not leaving you.”
“I know,” I smile weakly.
After he steps back out to make a call to his supervisor and check on paperwork, I stare at the ceiling and force my breathing to slow.
Kiren’s presence lingers in the bay even after he’s gone, like a handprint on a surface you can’t clean off.
My anger remains, but doubt begins to creep in around it.
If he’s right, then the SUV this morning wasn’t a coincidence.
The door wasn’t my imagination. And the brakes weren’t a random failure.
If he’s right, then last night wasn’t the only reason he entered my life.
If he’s right, then the line between my world and his has already been crossed, and I don’t get to pretend I can step back over it untouched.
I close my eyes and let the monitor’s beeping guide my breath, even as my mind returns to the moment the brake pedal dropped to the floor and failed.
And for the first time since I woke up in my apartment this morning, I stop trying to push Kiren out of my thoughts.
Because I can no longer tell whether he’s the danger or the warning.